


Trust

by hollyblue



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Bondage, Breathplay, M/M, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-31
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-11-07 07:13:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11053962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyblue/pseuds/hollyblue
Summary: Jake trusts his boyfriend to take it further than they have before.





	Trust

**Author's Note:**

> It's been a seriously long time since I wrote anything, though I've been reading a heck of a lot of fics. I think this turned out pretty well, considering. If there are any typos or errors that were missed, or you would like something additional tagged, don't be afraid to tell me.

 

 

Laying back on the mattress feels like sinking into a cloud, it's so soft. How plush the bed is, however, isn't topping the list of importance at the moment. Butterflies take flight in your stomach when your eyes open to meet an almost glowing orange pair hovering above you in the dimly lit room. 

The sight never fails to take your breath away, no matter how many times you experience it. It must show on your face- you never could hide your emotions as well as some you could name- because Dirk leans closer, until his lips nearly brush yours. 

“Still want to go ahead with this, Jake? Not going to hold it against you if this is too much.”

Your teeth dig into your lower lip before you reply, voice fainter than you would prefer. “I'm game if you are, Strider.”

He smiles slightly, just the barest flicker of expression before it's gone. “Course I am. First thing, though- remember your word?”

He knows you do, you always do, but you humor him anyway. “Tinkerbull, as we are both well aware. Now if you would get on with-”

Dirk cuts you off by pressing his lips to yours, causing you to inhale suddenly in surprise. It doesn't take long to recover and respond, eyes closing with a wordless murmur. The weight of his hands on either side of you shifts a moment before he touches you, fingers brushing your cheek as lightly as his breath. 

Gentle though it may be, you shiver. He doesn't stay still long, trailing to your jaw, down to your collarbone to wrap his hand loosely around your throat. Even with as little pressure as there is, it's impossible to ignore, speeding your heartbeat and breathing. 

Dirk notices, of course. His head tilts just a bit, lips parting to deepen the kiss. You let him in when his tongue brushes the seam of your own lips, passing your teeth and taking control. 

Not that he wasn't always in control, in most ways. Even in this scene, he's dominant, holding you down with just a single hand. The only part you have is the one word that can end it, and it's enough for you. 

The grip around your throat tightens fractionally, causing your breath to stutter despite not cutting off your airway at all. That is when he pulls back, breaking the kiss and releasing you. 

You know what is coming next- you planned it with Dirk, after all. So the soft metallic rattling doesn't surprise you as much as it usually would, and neither do the leather cuffs that encircle your wrists when you silently raise your hands above your head. 

That doesn't mean that you are unaffected. The first strap tightening has you swallow hard, the second causing you to shift your hips. 

“Shh,” Dirk murmurs, settling down over you again. The single word somehow calms your rising anxiety, or maybe it's the solid presence above you. Letting out the breath you are just now aware you've been holding, you nod and focus on his eyes. 

Slowly, Dirk’s hand comes into your view once more, taking hold of your glasses by the arm and lifting them away to set them on the nightstand with a soft click. In the next moment, the dim room goes completely black with soft fabric settling over your eyes. 

“Lift,” comes a soft request, and you obediently raise your head so he can tie the blindfold at the base of your skull. 

He's still here, of course, but the loss of being able to focus on his face has you nervous again, fingers curling into fists. The next touch, on your ribs, makes you jerk and gasp, startled. “Just me,” Dirk assures you, pressing his warm hand on your bare chest, just above the long scars. 

The point of contact sinks heat into you, spreading through your blood to the rest of your body. You can't hold back the soft sound you make, a barely audible whine. Dirk presses down harder, then removes his hand altogether. 

There isn't time for you to protest, barely enough to miss it, before it's back on your throat, much more firm than it had been previously. The whimper you give comes out twisted, choked. He doesn't relent, but squeezes tighter, actually affecting your breathing now. 

It should terrify you, being so helpless and overpowered. Hands useless, your airway constricted, held down by someone so much stronger than you. Maybe if it were someone else, you would panic, fight back. But with Dirk, you lay docile, though your heart races. You trust him. 

There isn't a gradual increase- after just a few seconds you suddenly can't breathe at all. Mouth dropping open, you struggle to inhale, legs jerking and body twisting slightly. It doesn't help, just deoxygenates you faster. Static fills the space between your eyes and the blindfold, and just before you're about to do something, try to break free, you're freed. 

Air rushes into your lungs fast enough to choke you, coughs racking your body. When you recover, trembling, Dirk cups your cheek, mouth just by your ear judging by the warmth of his breath. “Are you okay?”

Still recovering, you take a moment to reply. “Y-yes. Yes.” You aren't sure, but it feels like he relaxes slightly before moving from straddling you to your side- was he truly worried? 

You can't focus long on it, because then a hand presses between your legs through your shorts. Gasping, you buck into the touch. Now that your attention has been brought to it, you realize that you're soaked. “Dirk,” you gasp, laced with need. He stays silent, responding by pressing harder with what feels like two fingers, almost where you need it. 

You repeat his name, nearly a whine this time, and he takes the touch away. It’s awful to have him gone, and you cry out, arching to get him back on you. He pushes you down by the stomach, not where you need him at all. “Please,” you keen, feet dragging along the sheets. 

He still doesn't speak. When you finally slump, giving up, you feel him shift to kneel beside your head. A touch on the cheek farther from him urges you to turn your head to face him. One finger, you think his thumb, presses down on your lower lip, and you open your mouth. 

As you half expected, you feel his dick next, already slick with precum. The taste gets you to groan, chains rattling as you try to shift closer, but he stops you. You get the message- he's holding the reins. 

So you stay still, only moving your lips and tongue to work at him. When he slides deeper, though he can't get far at the angle you're at, you remember to cover your teeth before you lave your tongue against the underside of his length. The slight stutter in pace you get, as well as a soft sigh, reassure you. 

It's not long- long enough for you to cool down- before he pulls back, leaving you to lick your lips and swallow before turning your head to face upwards again. You feel him moving again, this time completely off the bed. It takes a bit of effort to keep yourself calm for the short time you don't know where he is, but he soon climbs back on from the base to stop between your spread legs. 

Both of you are silent for several seconds, the only sound your shallow breathing. Just before you open your mouth to call out to Dirk, he touches the waistband of your shorts. His fingers slip under the fabric, tugging gently, then harder, pulling them off without undoing them. 

You shiver as cool air touches you, the wetness on your thighs not helping at all. The contrast of heat when Dirk touches your thigh is enough to make you gasp, legs twitching, not sure whether to close or spread them. He moves closer, deciding for you with knees keeping your legs apart. 

Being unable to see makes you all the more aware of what you feel, doubles the intensity. Dirk’s finger trails through the thin layer of wetness smeared on your inner thigh, sending a tremor through you. You get more wound up the closer he gets to what you need, until you're shaking with anticipation. 

And then he finally touches you, though that may be putting it lightly. Two fingers suddenly slide into you; you arch and yelp in surprise. The noise quickly turns into a moan, relief coursing through you as he pumps in and out. When he adds a third, you nearly sob, and when he starts to curl them with each thrust, you do. 

You can feel how absolutely soaked you are, likely leaving a good-sized wet spot on the sheets below you. Dirk’s movements aren't helping, especially when he brushes past the rough spot inside of you. It makes you twitch, and when he deliberately presses against it, you spasm, jaw clenching against a loud moan. 

He doesn't seem to like how you try to muffle yourself, judging by the swat to your thigh. The next time he strokes your hotspot, you obey and shout, legs jerking and toes curling. 

Dirk pulls his fingers out and you whine loudly, aching to have something back inside you. “Please,” you manage, lifting your hips off the bed and spreading your legs further in an effort to get him to touch you again. 

Over your panting and your pulse, you hear a soft slick sound, familiar enough to send a surge of anticipation down your spine. Either he got lube when you weren't paying attention, or he's- he's using your own wetness. The thought makes you shudder, biting your lip. 

The shift in weight on the bed tells you he's leaning forward, one hand landing beside your ribs, you can guess where the other is. It's not his fingers that touch you next, you can tell. The head of his dick rubs against you, folds still spread open from his fingers before. 

When he stills, in just the position to slide into you, you manage to find your voice after a moment. “S-Strider, you dreadful tease, j-just put it in, I'll beg if I must, but ple-ah!”

Your voice breaks when he thrusts, sliding in to the base in one smooth movement. His groan is nearly drowned by your much louder cry. You yank at the cuffs, nails digging into your palms as you all but howl his name. 

Dirk, bless him, doesn't hold back. Hands curled around your hips hard enough for his fingers to bite into the skin, he slams into you with powerful thrusts that rock your frame. He must be as worked up as you, because it's not long before he puts a hand between your legs, thumb and forefinger taking hold of your dick to squeeze and rub up and down on it. 

You do start to cry then, legs wrapping around his waist as you finally cum. He drives into you two, three more times, relentless in stroking you, then stops deep inside of you, panting as you feel him spill, extra warmth pouring into you. 

It takes a long time to come down, Dirk’s warm body draped over yours. It still feels too soon when he moves, pulls out, making you wince at the feeling of being empty and cold and wet and dirty. 

The blindfold comes off first, Dirk lifting your head for you and untying it quickly. It's darker now, the sun having set more, but you can still see him. The cuffs are next, straps coming undone and hands being lowered gently to your sides before having blood flow massaged back into them. 

He cleans you off with a damp cloth; it's cold but having the mess taken off, at least partly, makes you feel worlds better. By then you’ve recovered enough to move yourself out of the wet spot, curling up to the side while Dirk throws a towel over it so he can lay next to you. 

“Are you alright?” he asks you softly, forehead pressed against yours and a hand light on your shoulder. You have to think about how to respond. “I… think so.” You'd never done something quite like that before, not all at once. 

He understands, though. He's gone for a moment, returning with a thick comforter to drape over both of you. Both of his hands pull one of yours into sight, his fingers tracing over the red marks from the strap. “No broken skin,” he says, though for whose benefit, you aren't entirely sure. He checks the other in the same way. 

Reassured that you are indeed whole, he pulls you closer into him, something you gladly go along with. Like that you drift off, comfortable and safe in Dirk’s arms.


End file.
